


Ten Years

by ffrindyddraig



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: AU for Star Trek III, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 07:24:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18960592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ffrindyddraig/pseuds/ffrindyddraig
Summary: McCoy and Spock get a visitor they haven't seen in ten years.





	Ten Years

**Author's Note:**

> It isn't stated in this story but McCoy is living on Cerberus, which is the planet his daughter lives/grew up on.
> 
> If I owned Star Trek Uhura would of have more of a role in the movie.

McCoy hadn't expected the knock on the door. Why should he? The only person who visited was his daughter, every Sunday unless there was an emergency in the hospital, and she had her own key. He threw the book down as the sound echoed around the small house he owned.

"Any chance this is for you?" He grumbled to the only other person who lived in this house. Spock raised an eyebrow, a silent   _why would it be for me_? McCoy still couldn't work out how he was the sociable one in this house. He pulled himself up, already fixing a scowl in his face. The one that sent salesmen, neighbours and religious preachers running for the hills. Ever since Spock spent an hour talking to a nut job about some alien who was God - at least according to their order - McCoy was in charge of opening the door. Damn unfair seeing as vulcan bodies didn't creek so much, not that he would tell that to Spock. Of course the bastard already knew. 

The knock came again, louder. "Hold ya horses, I'm a-coming." He grumbled. He was an old man, damn it. He swung open the door, ready to start complaining - and froze.

"Hey Bones." Nobody called him Bones anymore, just Dad or Doctor or, rarely when Spock wasn't in a pissy mood, Leonard. Then again, nobody but James T. Kirk had called him that nickname in the first place.

"Jim." He finally managed to croak out. His old Captain had changed, the years not kind to him as they had in his youth. His hair was mostly grey, the wrinkles on his face - which he got prematurely from the stress of being the youngest captain, then admiral, in Starfleet - now deep, and his once toned body had a few more pounds around the middle from his desk job. But, when he shot McCoy his wide, devil may care grin, it was like the years hadn't happened. 

"It's been too long."

McCoy suddenly remembered he was meant mad at his best friend. Furious, in fact. He'd spent hours explaining to Spock in great detail all the terrible things he would inflict on Jim the next time he showed his face. The Vulcan had, in his infuriatingly calm manner, pointed out that he would do none of it, and McCoy was annoyed to admit he was right. Faced with the man all he could do was try and hide how damn happy he was to see him again, and in classic McCoy manner, inherited from his daddy, he did so by scowling, crossing his arms over his chest and pushing the man away.

"You always knew where we were." Jim, at least, had the decency to look guilty about it, didn't try and offer excuses or apologises which would of made the door slam in his face so fast warp would look out of date. He never even visited at the start. The other's did, which made it worse when they stopped, that he was too far gone for them to stand being around him anymore. Except Scottie. Often coming when forced on holiday - at least the doctors in Starfleet were still up to scratch - always with a bottle of scotch and too drunk to care when the lines in McCoy's head began to blur.

"Can I come in?" Jim asked cautiously instead, and McCoy didn't have a choice. He could never turn away the man. He stepped aside, making sure to keep the glare on his face.

"Coffee?" He offered as Jim stepped over the threshold, and McCoy was relieved when he nodded, giving him the chance to flee. When he reached the kitchen he stayed at the door, watching his former captain find the living room and sit on the sofa, sitting on the PADD McCoy had left in the middle of it. He pulled it out from under him, his face comically taken aback, and the doctor could not help the smile that broke out on his face. Shaking his head, he turned away deciding coffee was not going to cut it. He pulled out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses before stomping back to Jim.

He poured it out, picking up his own and downing it in one. The burn felt good, and he poured himself another, only sipping this time. No use getting so out of it he no longer had any control over his head. Not that he had any control over it anyway, but at least this way he could pretend it hadn't been taken away from him.

"You did not bring a glass for me." Spock pointed out as he watched them drink. Jim shuffled uncomfortably, but McCoy just snorted.

"I'm not wasting the good stuff on you."

"It is customary in human culture to bring a drink for all those in attendance." Jim looked like he was about to bolt, the normal bickering off his two best friends not putting him at ease.

"Make your own damn tea." McCoy grumbled. The venom, which had faded during the long years of exile turning into something another man would call fondness, was back, as harsh as ever as he looked at his best friend and remembered everything that was taken from him. Spock made no move to get it, and for a moment the men just sat drinking in an awkward silence.

McCoy broke it first, as he reached for the bottle to pour yet another glass, ignoring Spock's disapproval. "What do you want, Jim?" His voice came out tired.

"It's been ten years." Like McCoy didn't know that. Like he could ever forget.

"Nine years, eleven months, three weeks and two days." Spock chimed in with, probably thinking he was being helpful. From the look on Jim's face, he wasn't.

"Yes. So. We're getting together. All of us. On Earth." He sounded unsure, and McCoy couldn't remember a time when James T. Kirk had ever sounded so much so. He was always brewing with confidence. Ten years was a long time.

Rolling his eyes, McCoy lifted his wrist up, flashing a bracelet. "I'm not allowed off planet."

Damn thing did more than track his location. Records what he's eating and drinking, how far he walks, his mood, and sends anything abnormal to his daughter. The only thing the report shows is high blood pressure, which had nothing to do with his habits and everything to do with house sharing with a vulcan.

"I've used my admiralty to help pull some strings."

"You haven't changed a damn bit." Jim just gave him a cheeky smile. God knows what Starfleet was thinking when they let him in.

"Vulcan as well?" McCoy hated that place - too hot and dry and the sand got everywhere and wouldn't wash out for weeks - but it was Spock's home world, and he knew the bastard wouldn't ask himself. Jim's face fell, that uncomfortable look back, and McCoy quickly shrugged, while Spock looked away. "No matter."

"The memorial will be in San Francisco." Jim carried on after a tense minute. "But we were thinking of having a less formal part. The old crew back together, sharing stories of the good old days."

Spock lent forward, taking Jim's hands in his own, the restraint he spent his whole life learning crumbling at the sound of his captain's wistful, broken voice. "I am not dead Jim. I'm right here."

Jim jumped up, pulling his hands away like the touch burned. He began to edge to the door. How many times had McCoy seen his friends leave because of _him_. Because he wasn't dead, but no one would listen to him. Call him crazy instead of seeing the truth, that Spock was still there. Sometimes, McCoy hated him for it. For making Uhura cry as she left the institute and never came back, Sulu and Chekov fading away when it all became too much. He could not blame Jim for never coming, nor could he blame him for leaving now. But he could blame Spock. This was all his fault. For dying, for not really dying at all, for ruining his life, for being the only one who wouldn't leave.

"My ship leaves tomorrow. Dock five." And at least Spock hadn't messed that up, the offer still standing. Then Jim was gone, the door banging shut behind him, and for a moment all McCoy could do was stare at the painted wood. Then he turned on Spock, the despair turning to anger.

"Do you have to do that?"

Spock did not sigh, but only because vulcan's did not. "It is illogical for them to ignore me. _Us._ "

McCoy buried his face in his hands. He couldn't blame Jim for running away. If he could, he would too.

**Author's Note:**

> I enjoy exploring katra McCoy, and I often wonder how it would of turned out if Sarek hadn't come and they realised he wasn't crazy. I'm not really happy with this, but I'm going through my old note pads and writing everything (that I finished) up, so sorry I'm inflicting this on you.
> 
> Thanks for reading.


End file.
